A Slight Mixup
by ChocolateShapeshifter
Summary: When Batman has a run in with the Joker and the Scarecrow, things can only go downhill. Especially since Scarecrow has come up with a brand new toxin.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything here. Just to make sure you know. **

It was going to be a trap, of course, but he had to go. It was dark, late night dark, because the bright full moon was hidden behind ominous clouds. His breath puffed out like comic-book speech bubbles, disappearing with every inhale. He didn't mind the cold; he was used to it and he was dressed warmly. It had been colder yesterday anyway. As he wandered through the alleys, a lone rat in huge maze, he let out an involuntary yawn. His double life was taking its toll on him.

He uncurled a gloved fist so he could reexamine the crumpled invitation. It was just like the Joker to write this – it was in purple crayon with sloppy, hard to read letters. It instructed him to go to a certain intersection of two alleys to find him. He snorted; it was going to be too easy.

Nevertheless, he had shown up early to the party to make sure nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He looked up, trying to find a stable spot on the rotting, dying buildings to grapple up. Finding a patch of bricks that had their mortar still intact, he used his grapple gun to reach the top, the only evidence a small cloud of brick dust. The edge of the building overlooked the designated alley. He dropped to his belly, not caring how much his armor got scratched up. He combat-crawled to the edge, so only his eyes up were visible. No one ever looked up, anyway.

The clown was there in the center of the alley, looking rather smug with himself. But he was by himself-no expendables. He was whistling to himself, an upbeat, cheery tune that sounded evil in the quiet gloom. He gathered himself up, crouching now, and prepared to jump down and end it right there. He very nearly jumped and had to scrabble to get back up; he had seen another shadow move behind the Joker.

The starved, scarred, dirty body and toxin-filled needles were unmistakable. The Scarecrow began pacing nervously, obviously not pleased with the idea of being here. Batman released a pent-up breath and it hissed from behind clenched teeth. He had narrowly avoided being ambushed. He shuddered at the thought of the fear gas; he didn't enjoy its side effects. Not that anyone would, exactly, except maybe the Scarecrow himself.

"Are you sure he's coming?" the Scarecrow hissed, looking furtively into the darkness. He realized it was probably really dark without night vision –the perfect cover for him. He definitely had the upper hand here.

"Anytime now," the Joker hummed, rocking on the balls of his feet. He seemed completely unconcerned with his lack of sight. He couldn't care less if he was caught or not. "Go hide of something. Be useful." Scarecrow rolled his eyes and shambled off behind a corner halfway down the alley. A smile touched Batman's lips as he prepared to jump again, a very rare sight.

With a running leap and a spray of rubble, he touched down silently at the end of the alley, the opposite end to the Joker. Judging by where Crane had hidden, he would no doubt slip out and sneak up behind him. He strode silently through the alleyway completely at ease. He could see the Joker clearly, but he knew the clown couldn't see him yet. He decided to play it up to avoid suspicion.

"What do you want, Joker?" he growled, and the lone, hunched figure grinned.

"Bats? So glad you could make it!" he shouted, shoving his hands into his pockets. Batman knew that was where he kept his lethal knives. "I just wanted a, uh, you know, a talk." Batman scoffed, which made the Joker chuckle. Batman passed the halfway mark and heard the slightest shuffle of bare feet behind him. They tiny smile was back –everything was going according to plan.

"Well then, talk," he said, honestly interested. He stopped a foot from the Joker, within arms' length. Anyone not used to the Joker would have been knocked out by his stench. It would be a simple matter of stretching his arm out, and the Clown Prince of Crime would be his.

"Well, I just wanted to do some catching up," he began, the ever-present smile frozen on his face, "and I was just thinking about you." Batman raised an eyebrow, suddenly skeptical. "Ya know, Bats, we see each other on a regular basis, yet you and I are strangers." Batman chuckled a little; it was true.

"So what does that have to do with anything?" Batman questioned.

"You didn't let me finish," he retorted, indignant. "But nothing. I was just trying to break the news to you gently. You see, I have big plans for the next week, so you," he paused pointing a purple finger at the Dark Knight's chest, "need to stay out of things for a while."

"And how do you expect to make me do that?" Batman asked, amused. He could almost smell Crane now, he was so close. The soft, shuffling footsteps suddenly turned into a flurry of loud, running ones, and Batman reacted quickly. The Joker had no time to react as he grabbed him by the vest and almost flung him with the force and speed of the turn. The clown was then in between Batman and the Scarecrow, and was therefore the one now impaled on Crane's needles.

The Joker nearly collapsed in a fit of giggles and Crane hurriedly yanked the syringes out of his back. It wasn't a deep puncture, but it had been enough to empty most of the fluids contained in the glove, which was refilled slowly from a reserve tank. The only sounds for a few seconds were the sloshing of the orange liquid and the hysterical laughter. Batman released the Joker, who in turn melted to the ground. Batman and Scarecrow exchanged glances over his currently neutralized form. No one really knew what to do; Batman was torn between helping and watching.

After a few more seconds of hysterics, the clown pushed himself up, grunting with the effort. He stumbled like a drunkard, and had to resort to leaning against the Scarecrow for support.

"Good thing…I'm not afraid of anything, right?" he choked out, his eyes slightly glassy. "The distortions are a pain though, that's no joke." The Scarecrow looked incredibly nervous, almost terrified. The Joker blinked a few times to clear his clouded vision. "Now you, on the other hand," he croaked, looking somewhat cross-eyed at Batman, "are afraid of many things. I think you deserve a double dose for good behavior."

"Uh, Joker, that's not fe-" Scarecrow interrupted, only to be counter-interrupted by the Joker.

"Get him!" Joker ordered, frowning slightly.

"I really shouldn't. It'd be a disaster," Crane began, only to be silenced by a death glare. Batman was following their conversation to the best of his abilities. He knew the Joker wanted Crane to inject him with fear gas, but by Scarecrow's reaction, it didn't seem like it was actually the fear toxins tonight. Maybe something even worse. He was so distracted that his reflexes were too slow to avoid Scarecrow's lunging stab when he finally decided to follow orders. He felt the sharp pain before he realized what had happened.

He jerked away, but it was too late. Scarecrow backed away, an expression close to horror on his face for what he had done. Batman and the Joker squared off, looking each other in the eyes. The Joker had started to quiver ever so slightly, and Batman could feel the shakes coming on. The Joker was the first to fall, hard and on his face. Batman fell to one knee, his brow furrowed in concentration. He could feel himself slipping away. He had been right –it wasn't fear gas. He almost didn't want to know. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the Scarecrow sprinting away without looking back.

"Oh, God," he muttered, "I am so dead!"

_(A.N. Thanks for reading this far! If you suffered through it long enough to see this, you deserve a gold star. I'm going to be adding more later. I think. If I can get up enough nerve to actually put up more. You have no idea how much it took for me to put this much on! Leave comments please!)_


	2. Chapter 2

**(A.N. I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but my Batman is mainly the Dark Knight Batman, my Joker is a mixture of Heath Ledger's and the one from Arkham Asylum, and my Scarecrow is the Arkham Asylum one. )**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I still don't own this stuff.**

Batman wrenched open his eyes, looking at the world through slits. He felt as if he had been run over by a semi. He brain was filled with cotton balls, anything more than single-word thoughts impossible. Every breath sent spikes of pain through his chest. He dimly recognized another dark mass lying across from him.

"Joker," he thought weakly, forcing himself to sit. He had to stop to catch his breath. He knew he couldn't possibly take the maniac in this state –he had to get home. He stumbled to his feet, feeling like the world had tilted. He had only a faint inkling of where he was. He didn't have to make it back to the cave –the mansion was fine. The only person to see him there was Alfred, and he already knew.

On his way out, he checked to make sure the Joker was still alive, at least. Bending over him, he could tell he was breathing, but it was shallow, ragged breaths. Satisfied that he was going to live, he stumbled back to the mansion. If even a mediocre thug were to show up, he would be helpless to save himself. But, by sheer luck he managed to make it, and collapsed on his bed without a second thought.

He blearily opened an eye, still beat from the night before, and had a mini-heart attack. He slowed his breathing and watched the man pace back and forth at the foot of his bed through one slitted eye. He was easy to recognize, as Bruce had know him both as Harvey Dent and later as Two-Face. But he hadn't known who Bruce was, had he? He looked genuinely concerned, however, stealing tiny glances at his unmoving form. Bruce decided he may as well let him know he was awake.

He yawned and stretched, earning a sigh of relief from Two-Face. His face felt weird –it wasn't pain, per se, just a sort of tightness.

"I don't think I've ever seen you sleep that long or deep," Two-Face commented. Bruce nodded, still wary.

"Yeah, Scarecrow hit me with something last night," Bruce muttered, holding his head. He could feel the first blooms of a headache moving in. Something wasn't adding up, and Bruce could feel it. "How do *you* know how I sleep?" Bruce said sharply, looking at Two-Face out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, you're usually up when I come over," Two-Face said, "I just sort of assumed you didn't sleep much." Bruce nodded slowly, but inside, his mind was reeling. One of Gotham's super villains had been visiting him, nearly daily, and he hadn't known? "I can see you're not yourself today. Want to do it later?"

"Yeah, that would be great," Bruce murmured, settling back into his inviting bed. He heard the slightly uneven footsteps walk to the door, and then the quiet creak of the door opening and closing. Bruce let out a sigh, his eyes wide with disbelief. He couldn't wrap his mind around Two-Face just leaving him without an attempt on his life. But then he realized his bed wasn't quite so inviting anymore –it smelled of mold and sweat, and Bruce felt as if he was drowning in the sheets.

Unwrapping the noose of sheets that had formed around his neck, he stumbled to his feet and instinctively scanned the room for danger. He blinked. This wasn't his mansion, that was obvious. It was sparingly furnished, and the few pieces that were there looked like they had been pulled from the city dump.

He felt strangely off-balance standing there. And taller, almost. He looked down to see what was wrong.

"No," he whispered, his eyes glued to his body. He made a mad dash for the bathroom. "No! No, no, no!" He stared desperately into the grimy mirror and had his fears confirmed. He was who he had never wanted to be. And no matter how horror-stricken he was, he couldn't stop smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my words, unfortunately.**

He knew that staring into the mirror wouldn't magically change his appearance, but he could hope. He had a theory – that he and the Joker had switched places, however unlikely – and if it was true, he was totally screwed over. While everyone at the police department, himself included, knew what the Joker looked like, had his fingerprints and DNA (with no matches, he might add), no one could track him and no one knew his true name. He, on the other hand, was a mystery, an unknown. There had been many guesses to who Batman was, but no one suspected a multi-millionaire playboy. But anyone with half a brain knew who Bruce Wayne was, and he knew the Joker could easily piece two and two together. It was ridiculous how easily his world could shatter.

But a downside to the Joker was that it was difficult to travel around normally, while Bruce could just stroll around Gotham.

"Not for long, though, if the Joker has his way," he muttered, then stopped in surprise. It would take some time to get used to his new cynical voice. He sucked in a breath, then gave a weak giggle the Joker would have been ashamed of. It was perfect, just the right tinge of insanity. He smiled, his first since waking up. It was almost like the joy of wearing a Halloween costume and being able to be someone entirely different for a night.

Then Bruce's mood darkened and his grin was replaced with his more usual scowl. He didn't know how long this would take to wear off, or even *if* it would wear off. He ran his hand through his hair, a habit of his, then grimaced at its greasy feel. Couldn't be helped, he thought, eying the shower distrustingly.

He supposed the best place to start would be to find himself before the clown had a chance to do anything. But he couldn't go out looking like *this*. He plowed through piles of junk, trying to find anything to wear besides the wretched suit. He nearly shoved over a pile of neatly stacked papers during his efforts. He quickly scanned the top one, easily forgetting his mission, eyes wide.

Here, he could learn the Joker's plans for months to a'T', neatly written in crayon. He wanted so bad to pour over the papers, but finding the Joker was a more pressing matter. Finally, he checked the closet, probably where he should have started, but there was still nothing. He groaned – it seemed nothing was going to work out. He strongly considered breaking into someone's home for clothes, but he thought better of it. Then there, shoved under the bed, were a neglected pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Bruce sighed in relief, then retreated to the bathroom clothes in hand. The smell and filth were even worse in there, but Bruce wasn't picky anymore. He peeled off the suit that seemed to have grafted to his body. Turning the faucet on the sink, he was answered by the wheezing and spluttering pipes, which eventually spat out some weak splatters of murky brown water. Squinting in disgust, he vigorously scrubbed his face to remove any traces of the makeup. He noticed small green droplets in the sink and realized his hair color wasn't permanent like he had thought. He quickly washed it out.

He had nothing to cover the scars with, but he couldn't be far from Wayne Manor. Besides, no one would pay very much attention to him. Probably. As long as they had no reason to suspect him, they wouldn't look twice at him. He turned off all the flickering lights, then crossed to the front door. It took every ounce of courage he had to step out into the world.

He turned to look at his new home as he left. A small, run down apartment in what looked to be the Narrows. He slowly turned in a circle to get his bearings. His eyes locked on Wayne Enterprises, probably the easiest to find. So that meant that somewhere behind him was Arkham. He easily found the gothic-style building and nodded. He quickly found the direction he needed and began walking to his mansion.

He nervously turned his head whenever he met another person, not eager to be recognized. His stomach squirmed every time someone met his eye. But against all odds, he managed to make it, and sprinted through the immaculate lawn towards the house. He burst through the front door and was met by…silence.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, maybe a wild party or his house burned down, but it seemed perfectly…normal. Bruce listened hard – he didn't have his normal keen senses and the clown really didn't take care of himself – and he could hear a series of thumps above his head. He wasn't sure if he should be surprised or not; he certainly didn't feel it. With a sense of foreboding, he cautiously walked up the stairs, avoiding the ones he knew creaked. He determined the noises were coming from his bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, he counted to three and yanked open the door, startling whoever was inside. Bruce's body turned to him and smiled sheepishly, wearing his black cape.

"Sorry, I just wanted to test it out. Looked like fun," Bruce's smooth, calm voice said. It was unnerving, seeing and hearing himself. Bruce flinched – there was no way the Joker didn't know. He was ruined. "I'm hoping you're Bats, at least. I'd hate having a lunatic run my body."

"Now you know how I feel," Bruce growled, but it came out singsong.

"You know, it's been just wonderful. I slept in, your Butler brought me breakfast, I found your cape…how was your morning?"

Bruce scowled, a face incompatible with the Joker's forced grin. The Joker finally realized that he had removed the hair dye and makeup, and pouted.

"You know, that's insulting. You should wear my scars with pride!" the Joker giggled, but it sounded ridiculous in Bruce's voice. Ignoring the clown, Bruce cut right to the chase.

"Where's Alfred?" he demanded, hoping for the best.

"Who? Your butler? Ah, well, you see, after he fed me, I killed him and shoved his body in the attic. I hope you don't mind," he replied, twirling so the cape fanned out behind him. Bruce reacted quickly, pinning the Joker's arms by his sides.

"I'm tired of you, Joker," Bruce said, straining to hold the Joker in place.

"You forget, I'm the one with the muscles now!" the Joker said gleefully, easily breaking Bruce's hold on him. Bruce cursed under his breath, struck with the sudden image of the Joker using his newfound strength to terrorize Gotham.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Bruce muttered, "I know this is hard on you too, but you're not allowed to kill anyone!" The Joker scoffed.

"Can I *secretly* kill people?" he asked, giving an award winning smile. Bruce in turn gave him the best glare he could muster.

"No," he said, putting as much emphasis as he could on the word. The Joker looked at him slyly out of the corner of his eye.

"And how, exactly are you going to stop me, Bats?" he taunted. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"I'll do good things. In broad daylight," Bruce threatened, "wearing the makeup and everything." The Joker shuddered.

"Why would you even consider such a thing?" he muttered, losing his cheerful attitude instantly. "That's…that's horrible!" He broke off, disgusted.

"You don't kill people and I won't do good things. I'll try and get this *mess* sorted out," Bruce reported. "And, I swear, if you give me scars, you will find your body at the bottom of the river." The Joker raised an eyebrow, a look of amusement on his face.

"I don't know how I'll cope! My image is ruined!" The Joker lamented, swooning, a hand to his forehead. "All this money and attention! I can't handle this!"

"It may take a while to find Scarecrow, so just lay low, okay?" Bruce pushed, very uncomfortable with the whole situation. There were so many ways it could go wrong.

"Fine," he muttered. Pouting, he removed Bruce's cape. "Be nice to my friends, okay Brucie?" Bruce nodded, resigning himself to a long time of nasty apartments and little to no food.

"Wait," he said, stopping. He turned to dig in a dresser and came out with his fat wallet clutched in his fist. "I'll be taking this." He was still a millionaire, after all. He may as well buy a better apartment. And some clothes.

"See ya later," the Joker called. Bruce shook his head. His mind was elsewhere. He'd have a hell of a time trying to find Scarecrow, especially since he couldn't have any of his gadgets. He'd start by shopping. He didn't think he'd last long in that old apartment.

_(AN: Thanks for reading yet again! I appreciate all of the comments! )_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything, sorry.**

The Joker grinned at Bruce's back. He was under a lot of stress, Batman was. He was now much worse off than he had ever been before.

"Bruce Wayne," he said, feeling the words in his mouth. He was definitely at an advantage here. Sure, Bruce could do good things as the Joker, but the public would think it was just an act. But how would they react if their beloved hero started killing?

And, *if* they ever managed to find Scarecrow and even *if* he could change them back, he knew Batman's real name! He could kill him in his sleep! Kill all of his loved ones! Bruce had nothing – he knew where he lived…for now. He knew a few, rejected plans he had left behind. But that was it. No one knew his real name except for him, and even he wasn't so sure.

Of course, just like Bruce would never kill him, he would never kill Bruce. But that wouldn't stop him from wounding him. Badly. So, try as hard as he may, Batman was going to lose. But with the extreme excitement, he also had the bitter taste of disappointment too. Part of the fun of fighting with Batman was trying to figure out who he actually was. But now, he knew, with little effort on his part. All he had to do was get stabbed. It was almost like being told what presents you're getting for Christmas.

Bruce was going to have a hard time finding Scarecrow anyway. If he wanted to hide, no one could find him. Bruce would have to wait until he started up his fun again, which, if Scarecrow was smart, wouldn't be for a while. He paused to think about Scarecrow, still standing where Bruce had left him.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to hug him or murder him in gruesome ways. But it looked like he'd have plenty of time to think about it. Bruce's life wasn't exactly hectic. It wasn't fair. Bruce was ruining his fun. With a sigh, he decided to explore his new home. That ought to occupy him for a while.

After spending the afternoon shopping, Bruce easily found and paid for an apartment. It wasn't as nice as he'd like, but he didn't want it to be too obvious. He was lucky he had made a credit card in another name. Everyone knew what Bruce Wayne was supposed to look like. He'd get arrested for identity theft, the police would discover the scars, and it'd be all over. That would be just what he needed – being arrested for being the Joker.

All he had left to do was move the Joker's stuff and hunt down Scarecrow. And he could leave the furniture – the apartment came fully furnished. He had to bring everything else and tell Two-Face where he was moving to. It was only polite, although he'd rather not have to fake being the Joker in front of him.

Bruce grumbled and began sorting through the Joker's stuff. He really needed a pair of gloves for this – the Joker was disgusting. At least he didn't own much. He gathered the plans, a few boxes of crayons, the greasepaint, hair dye, and the horrid suit. Not to mention all the knives and the occasional gun – the Joker had squirreled them away, hiding them around the rooms for emergencies. Bruce was sure he hadn't found maybe half of them, but he doubted the clown would be able to do any better. He stuffed everything into a suitcase he had bought that afternoon.

Then came the rattling of the doorknob, and Bruce instinctively tensed, his back to the door, as it creaked open. Familiar uneven footsteps crossed the floor to him, stopping just behind him.

"Moving?" said Two-Face's raspy voice with a hint of amusement. Bruce relaxed, forcing himself to smile. He turned to face Harvey, still feeling the queasy twinge in his stomach from aversion to his burns. It was something he'd never get used to.

"Upgrading, you could say," Bruce said nervously, "Don't you ever knock?" He hoped he could emulate the Joker, but he feared he was doing it wrong or trying too hard. He anxiously scanned Two-Face's face, looking to see if he noticed if anything was wrong. But he was still smiling.

"Need any help?" he asked, "You gonna keep the furniture?" He had a greedy look in his eye. Bruce scanned his brain for sayings and nicknames he'd heard the Joker say,

"Nope. Take it if you want it, Ace," Bruce stumbled, his tongue tripping over the words. Two-Face clapped him on the shoulder and went to examine the T.V. Bruce sighed, and checked the apartment one last time.

"I'll send some people over later," Two-Face said, apparently pleased with what he had seen, "But, if you don't need me, I've got other things to do." Bruce shook his head, then stopped.

"Hey, Harv," he said, and Two-Face turned, his hand on the doorknob. "Have you seen Scarecrow recently?" Harvey's brown furrowed.

"Not that I can think of. Usually, he finds you." Two-Face chuckled, opening the door, "See ya later."

"Bye," Bruce muttered after the door had closed again. He had never felt so alone. Not even when he had been at the press conference calling for him to give himself up. But he couldn't stop – he would begin searching for Crane tonight. He mentally shook himself, grabbed the suitcase, and left the apartment.

The Joker yawned and threw down the papers he was looking at. It was just boring business crap. Bruce had his plans, but he hadn't left any behind. Even after scouring the mansion, he couldn't find the Batcave or anything. Just his cape. You would think that a huge room filled with computers and technology would be easy to find.

He returned to the bedroom – it was as large as one of his apartments – and eyed the room. It was the only one he hadn't checked. It was fairly empty, just a bed, a piano, and a bookcase.

"Aha," he said, and began pulling books off the shelves like a madman. But, to his dismay, there wasn't a special book that acted as a lever like in the movies. He rocked back on his heels, one eyebrow raised. While it hadn't opened, the bookshelf was made of glass, and he could see blackness behind it that wasn't the wall. He yanked on the bookshelf as hard as he could, but even with Bruce's strength, it didn't budge. "Come on!" he muttered.

Hearing a chuckle behind him, he whipped around.

"Forget which keys open it, Master Wayne?" the old butler grinned, entering the room.

"Ah…yeah. Slipped my mind," the Joker said, smiling apologetically. He watched intently as Alfred pushed three chords, and startled when a portion of the bookcase opened inward. "Thanks," he muttered absentmindedly, his mouth agape. He was going to have fun in there.

_(AN: My fourth upload…everything is going better than expected, I think. It's very weird to be talking about Bruce but be describing the Joker and vice versa. Just so you know! Thanks for the reviews, although I wouldn't mind people telling me what to fix ;) Have a nice day!)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything...**

He felt ridiculous, standing in front of the mirror. He felt fake, shallow, and see-through. He knew he had gotten the makeup right – he had seen the clown enough to get it perfect. It was like wearing the world's best Halloween costume. It just felt…wrong. But he couldn't walk around Gotham's streets at night, threatening criminals without it.

He gritted his teeth, then climbed through the window in the bathroom. He had picked this apartment for the sole reason of it being on the edge of town right next to an alley. But once out of the tiny window, he had to question his judgment. Sure, the Joker was strong, but he obviously wasn't as strong as Bruce. He could feel his fingers slipping off the windowsill, and forced himself to look down.

He was on the third floor, thirty feet above the ground. He would have no qualms jumping down if he was in his own body, but jumping down now would be suicide. But he couldn't climb back in now, either.

"Damn it," he muttered, starting to sweat. There was a nice pile of garbage below him that he could use to break his fall, but he couldn't tell if there was glass or other unpleasant things down there. It looked to be his best bet, however. It took a lot of guts to pry his fingers off the window. The fall seemed to take forever, and when he finally hit the stinking trash, he rolled, crashing into the wall of the building opposite.

He lay there, dazed, and stared up at the night sky. He ran a mental check on his body to make sure he was still intact. He gingerly moved to a sitting position. Besides a few bruises he was sure to have earned, he was fine.

"Close call," he thought, staring up at the open window high above him. He needed a better way out. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying for a moment, then took off. He didn't know where to start; his plan was to just wander around until he found either the Scarecrow or someone who knew where he was. He couldn't hide forever.

A few times, Bruce caught himself wanting to grapple up on top of a building. It was unfortunate that he had to do everything on foot. After and hour of fruitless searching, all that had turned up were a couple of lowlifes who skirted around him like he was infected with the plague. He was about to give up when he turned a corner, and, right in front of him, were two scumbags cornering a young couple who had apparently wandered into the wrong alley. Bruce gritted his teeth, about to rush in and save them, but he stopped.

The last thing he wanted was to draw attention and suspicion to himself, and saving citizens dressed as the Joker would do just that. He'd have to be very careful on how he approached the situation. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he forced himself to coolly stroll into the view of the goons.

"Evening," he smiled, very nearly causing the smalltime thugs to jump out of their skin. The couple huddled together now that he, the bigger threat, had appeared. "Whatcha guys up to?" he asked, giving a dangerous lift to his voice. They looked like two pigs who had accidentally wandered into the slaughterhouse.

"Uh…nothing," one muttered, slack-jawed, and they both tried to inch away. The one that hadn't spoken made a break for it, and Bruce lashed out and grabbed his collar, stopping him in his tracks.

"Now, now. That's rude. I wasn't finished talking," Bruce said, pushing the both of them against a wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man and woman run for it, casting dubious looks over their shoulders. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then took a step back, giving both criminals the evil eye. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a knife, and began rolling it in his gloved hands. Both of them paled visibly and Bruce grinned, even enjoying himself. The looks on their faces were priceless.

"So, you see, gentlemen, I'm in need of a little…information," he said, running his thumb down the blade. One swallowed, hard. "Either of you fine men know where I could find the Scarecrow?" They glanced at each other, and one shook his head. The other hesitated.

"Actually," he mumbled, "I think I saw him in the Narrows around Arkham a few hours ago." After speaking, he stared at his shoes. Bruce mulled it over, and decided it was his best lead.

"Good enough," he said suddenly, startling them. "Have a nice night." He thrust his hands in his pockets and walked away whistling, leaving the bewildered thugs behind him. Once out of view, he broke into a sprint towards the Narrows. He had, at best, three hours left for tonight. Crane had burned down the apartment Bruce had found previously, but if Bruce could find his new home, he could lie in wait for Scarecrow to return.

It was when he stopped to take a break that somebody found _him_.

"Hey, Joker, where've you been all day?" a rough voice called from the darkness. Bruce whipped around to find three of the Joker's expendables.

"Ah, I've been busy," he said nonchalantly. He gave a winning smile. "Any of you fellas know where I could find our buddy the Scarecrow?" They paused to think, and Bruce wryly thought that thinking might be difficult for them.

"Well, he was down by the river," one began.

"He was, last week, but he moved," a second interrupted. They all stopped once again, their brows furrowed comically.

"Okay, I remember. Right now, he's right outside the gates of Arkham. Ironic, isn't it?" he guffawed. Bruce gave them an impatient smile.

"Where, outside the gates?" he asked urgently, needing clarification.

"I'll show you," the third said, sobering up. "Right this way, Boss," he muttered with a jerk of his head. Bruce followed, waving goodbye to the rest of them. The thug expertly wound through Gotham's underbelly. Within ten minutes, the expendable jolted to a stop and pointed up at a window four floors above them. "That's it," he said, inclining his head.

Bruce tilted his head back, but he couldn't see through the grimy window. He clapped the man on the shoulder, muttered a dismissive thanks, and began searching for a way up besides the door. He circled the building and noticed a fire escape barely clinging to the brick wall. He clambered up to the fourth floor and broke through the door that led to a hallway. There was only one door, and it was unlocked.

Bruce let himself in and closed the door behind him, his eyes alert for trouble. In the slight darkness, all he could see was disrepair – no one was home. Bruce found the cleanest chair and settled in to wait for the Scarecrow. He amused himself by looking around the room and reading various papers scattered on the floor – mostly involving psychology. It wasn't long before Bruce heard the rattle of the doorknob and went instantly alert.

The door creaked open, and there stood the Scarecrow. He partway walked into the room but stopped short when he saw Bruce's figure.

"Joker?" he asked pleasantly, but Bruce could tell he was worried. Bruce moved to his feet, striding quickly across the room to meet Crane. "Well, I guess you already made yourself at home," Crane began, stepping all the way into the room. In seconds, Bruce had reached the door and Scarecrow. He lashed out and slammed the door, then grabbed Crane around the shoulders and pinned him to the wall.

"Ah, I'm guessing my toxin worked," Scarecrow said, his face indiscernible behind his mask.

"You guessed right," Bruce growled, but the effect was lost in Joker's singsong voice.

"So, how do you feel? Any unusual side-effects?" Crane continued, and Bruce could tell he was smiling. He silenced him with a glare.

"You _are_ going to fix this," Bruce said darkly. Scarecrow squirmed a bit in his grasp.

"Well, ya see, that's the problem…I didn't make a cure," he mumbled, looking downward. In frustration, Bruce pulled his mask off and threw it behind him so he could see Crane's face better. Scarecrow blinked, feeling slightly unprotected and bare.

"Well, then you will _make_ a cure," Bruce continued. Scarecrow gave him a half-smile, a strange glint in his eyes.

"That could take months, even years! You have no idea how long it took to make the toxin itself!" Scarecrow whined, now staring Bruce directly in the eye. Bruce shivered; now he was the one feeling uncomfortable. Scarecrow chuckled and said, "You know, originally I was going to inject you that night, let you beat us up like you always do, then go stab a random citizen with it the next day. But, also like always, you ruined everything and got yourself mixed in with the Joker!"

"Look," Bruce interrupted, although he was seething, "you find or make a way to reverse this, and I won't turn you in." He was desperate now.

Scarecrow perked up, thought, then said, "That's really tempting…I may consider it."

"Good enough," Bruce said hurriedly, releasing Crane, "shake on it." Scarecrow reluctantly took Bruce's purple-clad left hand, as Bruce was deliberately avoiding his needles.

"Can I have my house back now, Batman?" Scarecrow said, sounding bored. Bruce paused, torn between forcing the Scarecrow and just going with what luck he had. After a few awkward seconds, Bruce gave a reluctant nod and vacated the room. "See ya around, Batman," Crane called while waving, smiling with smug satisfaction.

Now that he had found the Scarecrow, Bruce had nothing to do. He would probably just mope around his apartment until Crane managed to concoct a cure. Besides, if he stayed out of sight and out of trouble, the Joker might follow suit. If he was lucky. Bruce shook his head and made for his apartment.

(_AN: I just thought I should mention, I have exactly thirteen reviews at the time that I'm publishing this. That's my lucky number! Thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews!)_


	6. Chapter 6

The blaring alarm was starting to get on his nerves. Sure, it probably didn't help that he had started button mashing as soon as he had gotten down here. He clapped his hands over his ears, giving the computers the stink-eye. It was good that the Butler had left, at least. He desperately smacked his palm on another button, but nothing happened. If anything, the alarm got louder. He didn't really care, it was just giving him a headache.

He felt a cell phone vibrating in his pocket and hurriedly pulled it out. The lit up screen proclaimed 'Cave Break-in. Disarm?' He couldn't push 'yes' fast enough. Within a matter of a few seconds, the alarms faded. He let out a pent-up breath and removed his other hand from his ear.

"Nifty," he commented, slipping the phone back in his pocket. Soon after the alarms had faded, the computers' screens flickered to life. Just like that, he had access to all of Batman's files. He sifted through them, often yawning as he went. Who knew that Batman could be so boring?

He soon came across a file marked simply as 'Joker'. He eagerly double-clicked on it, and was rewarded with all sorts of goodies. There was a copy of every video he had been involved in, and a copy of pictures from all the times he had smiled for the security cameras. He couldn't help but smile back at himself. He wondered how many times Batman had sat down here alone and listened to his laughter echoing off the walls. Had it given him chills? He cackled madly, a sound never heard in Bruce's voice, and set to work.

It couldn't have been more than three days until Bruce finally got bored enough to turn on the T.V. He sat through mind-numbing reality shows, biding his time until the news. Right off the bat (no pun intended), the first story was on his apparent disappearance.

"Without any sign of the Batman in nearly a week, Gotham's citizens are wondering: has he left us? Stay tuned for more," the irritating announcer said. Bruce reclined, lost in thought. He hadn't realized how much people begin to worry in a week. He never thought for one second that Gotham would miss him if he left. It would be almost comforting, if he wasn't stuck in this psycho's body.

His eyes wandered back to the screen, and he had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing straight. On the screen was a clip of the Scarecrow being dragged to a police car already wearing a straight jacket.

"In an unprecedented turn of events, Dr. Jonathan Crane, also known as the criminal Scarecrow, has turned himself in. Doctors and the GPD are puzzled to say the least. Crane is quoted as saying, 'Just try and get me in here!' Whatever this means, it is up to the talented and understanding doctors at Arkham to try and understand and treat this unique mind. Also, a high speed -" Bruce turned the television off, dumbstruck.

There was a tentative knock on the door, and Bruce scrambled to get the door. When yanked open, it revealed one of the Joker's men, who was nervously shifting from foot to foot. He held out a yellowed piece of paper, and Bruce snatched it right out of his hand.

"One of Scarecrow's guys gave this to us for you," he began, stuttering slightly, "S-said it was important." Bruce smiled, then slammed the door in his face. He quickly began reading.

"_Hey, Batman. Hopefully you've seen the news lately so I won't have to explain myself. Anyway, I have decided that it is more interesting for my experiment's sake to let you and the Joker figure it out on your own, and allow more time for any unusual side-effects to show up. As such, I'm turning myself in to avoid the both of you. Best of luck, Scarecrow"._

Bruce felt a wave of anger sweep over him, and he crushed the note in his gloved fist. A giggle escaped from behind his lips, and he covered his mouth with his other hand, shocked. Something would have to be done, and fast. So, the Scarecrow wanted to play games? How hard could it be to break in if all the inmates had such an easy time breaking out? He also had a new plan, which would involve talking to the Joker again. He wasn't looking forward to it.

With another involuntary flurry of giggles, he set about getting ready to meet with the Joker.

After messing everything up as much as possible, whether it was intentional or not, the Joker returned to the elevator to get back to his room.

"Bruce's room," he corrected himself, emerging from behind the bookcase. To his surprise, Batman was there waiting for him, arms crossed.

"What were you doing," he asked, raising an eyebrow, the classic image of a bouncer. The Joker wryly noticed that his eyes were red and had huge bags underneath them. Not that he looked any better, probably.

"Just having a look around. I get bored easily, and your life isn't really a, uh, party," he whined, "besides, I blew up your girlfriend and your butler is gone for the weekend, so there's no one for me to terrorize."

Bruce ignored him somehow, not without great effort, and moved onto more important things.

"I found the Scarecrow," he said bleakly, "and then he turned himself in." The Joker giggled to hide a wave of depression that had washed over him.

"Sounds like something I would do, not our pal Johnny. But what are we going to do? I can't take this much longer, I've been feeling the urge to do good things!"

"And I've been feeling like you. I've been laughing uncontrollably. It's ridiculous," Bruce replied, smothering a few giggles even as he spoke. "But I do have a new plan, and I'll need your complete cooperation." The Joker pondered for a moment, knowing he could go back on Batman if he changed his mind.

"Okay," he agreed, "anything to get out of this body." He shifted slightly so he could see all of his own face. "So what _is_ the plan?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, you know how our first plan was to just lay low and wait for Scarecrow to make a cure?" Bruce began, and the Joker nodded. "That's not going to work anymore. The Scarecrow's gone, and people are wondering where we are."

"Where *you* are, you mean," the Joker interjected, "Nobody cares where I've gone. In fact, they're probably glad I've disappeared." He stared wistfully into the distance.

"Okay, whatever," Bruce continued, "Anyway, we need to be out there. Which is why you will be doing good, heroic thing and I," he swallowed, "will be doing things like you would." The Joker made a face, obviously not pleased with the idea. "I don't like it either, but it'll be easy. You do very small simple things, and I might rob a few people. Every once in a while, I'll stage something big, you come in, we fight and I run away. Just so people know we're still here."

"Okay, I'll admit that's a pretty good plan," the Joker said, looking slightly impressed, "but do you think we'll be able to pull it off?" He pantomimed gliding around Gotham, and exaggerated scowl on his face. "I don't know how long I'll be able to keep from smiling!"

"I certainly hope so," Bruce chuckled, "We've been doing this long enough. I thought I did pretty good on the makeup." The Joker scrutinized his own face, a hint of a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. His eyes trailed from the black smudges around Bruce's eyes to his bright red lips. As he watched, Bruce's tongue flicked out, seemingly to wet his lips.

"_Odd,"_ he thought, then said, "You did pretty well. It just looks too…neat." He reached out to smudge the greasepaint a little, and Bruce unconsciously flinched away. The Joker let out an exasperated sigh and pulled his hand away. "Just trying to help, Brucie. Lighten up!"

"We're not friends," Bruce clarified, "once things get back to normal, nothing will have changed."

"Aw, come on, ya never know! We could be the best of friends!" the Joker said, forcefully cheery. It was getting harder to be his normal, happy self. Just being in Bruce's body had that effect on him. Bruce softened slightly.

"Well, regardless, I need to show you all of your new gear and how to use it," he said, pulling him by the elbow to the hidden door. His hand hovered over the keys for a second, a look of confusion of his face. Then he pushed the three chords, scoffing quietly.

"Hooray," the Joker said, rolling his eyes. He followed Bruce into the dark abyss that had once again opened in the wall. Bruce had it easy; all he had to do was use a knife and the occasional gun. He, on the other hand, had a lot to learn because Bruce was a cheater. All those gadgets…the Joker didn't stand a chance.


	7. Chapter 7

**(A/N: Hey guys, sorry for taking so long. I kinda got bored of my writing for a while. So, anyway, here it is! Enjoy, and review!)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. NOTHING.**

He shook his head, still trying to comprehend instructions from five sentences ago. In the first place, this stuff was confusing, and secondly, Bruce just wasn't a good teacher. He expected you to get it, and when you didn't, he got frustrated. It irritated him to no end to see a frown on his own face.

"All I got out of that was electricity and cloth," the Joker said, interrupting Bruce's tirade. Bruce sighed impatiently, crossing his less-than-muscled arms.

"Here," Bruce said, shoving a black glove onto a startled Joker's hand. "Touch it," he ordered, gesturing to his cape lying on the table in front of them. With a dubious look, the Joker laid his hand on the fabric. It popped into shape like it was supposed to and the Joker pinwheeled backwards in surprise.

"That's pretty cool, Batsy," he muttered, recovering quickly. He prodded the memory fabric again, grinning wildly when it dutifully popped up again. Even Bruce shared his grin, settling into a more comfortable expression for the scars.

"I know," he said, sobering again, "now, I'm going to teach you how to use the grapple gun."

"Ah yes. The thing that saved me from plunging to my death," he said dramatically. "This should be fun." He listened carefully as Bruce explained the mechanics of the gun, although he wasn't soaking up a word.

"…which projects the claw out in whichever direction you're pointing it. Got it?" Bruce finished. The Joker nodded, a fake smile plastered on his face. It was going to be a long night. He could already tell.

After explaining most of his equipment to the Joker (although he was sure he didn't get any of it), Bruce slunk back to his apartment. Even though he said it was going to be easy, he wasn't sure if he could stomach undoing his work while acting as the Joker. Maybe he could just *pretend* to do something. But even just threatening an innocent citizen would feel wrong. On a side note, the way the Joker's scars stretched hurt his face. Try smiling for as long as you can, and you'll know how it felt. It also pulled his face in strange directions when he talked, which really bothered him. He was so lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice the green-clad man step in front of him.

"Hello, Joker," he said, looking bored. Bruce was surprised to say the least.

"Nygma," he acknowledged with a nod, "how can I help you?" The Riddler sighed and pushed his matching green hat back to get a better view.

"I thought as much," he said cryptically, rolling his eyes. Bruce narrowed his eyes, already irritated by Edward's personality. "You honestly don't remember our plans for next week? With Two-Face and Scarecrow?"

"O-of course I remember!" Bruce said quickly. His purple suit rustled as he crossed his arms yet again in self-defense. The Riddler laughed condescendingly.

"No you don't," he laughed, "although we'll be missing Crane, of course." Bruce nodded in understanding, figuring his best course of action would be to just keep his mouth shut. Someone like the Riddler would use every hint of ignorance against you. "Well, just to remind you, Joker," he spat, "This Thursday we'll be targeting Gotham National Bank. Don't be late - eight o'clock, okay? You're in charge of keeping everyone quiet, so bring the usual stuff."

Bruce was too worried to question what 'the usual stuff' might be. He had been hoping to just lay low, but now it looked like he would be forced to hold a huge heist. People could get killed, and he couldn't stop it without earning the suspicion of Riddler and Two-Face. He would have to rely on the Joker to save everyone.

"Right," Bruce said finally, "see you then." The Riddler leaned in slightly, almost as if he was getting a better look at his face. His squinted eyes scoured Bruce's face, and his eyebrows were raised. He seemed to come to a conclusion, shook his head, and retreated slightly.

"Bye," he muttered dismissively, a small hint of suspicion in his voice. Bruce nonchalantly walked away, but his heart was pounding. Somehow, he knew. Bruce had done nothing to give it away, but Nygma knew something was wrong. He would have to be more careful. He had less than a week to get to Scarecrow, or else he would have to go along with their plans. Of course, things just couldn't be simple. He made a fist in his anger, and the squeak of his purple gloves answered him.

He stared at them in surprise, and he laughed unintentionally. Somehow, he found their talk back hilarious. Being the Joker was very interesting. At least now, after what seemed like forever, he had gotten used to his adjusted size, which meant he wasn't hitting his head on everything anymore. His gait evened out as he calmed down, settling into the Joker's casual strut. His wiry limbs weren't much to be proud of, either. But, for some odd reason, Bruce was actually enjoying himself at times. Even though he had such strong morals, he was finding it fun to stretch the boundaries a little.

"I might be able to get used to this," Bruce said, grinning like the madman he looked like.

The next day was a Monday, and that meant Bruce Wayne had to go to work. Or at least someone who looked like Bruce Wayne had to.

"_At least I get to wear a suit,"_ The Joker thought, frowning into a mirror. It wasn't purple though, which didn't help at all. He adjusted the tie, bringing it almost noose tight against his throat. But before he could grumble about it too much, the butler came through the door behind him. He cleared his throat.

"Master Wayne," he began respectfully, "are you ready to go? You're going to be late." The Joker swallowed any smartass comments and turned to face Alfred, smiling pleasantly.

"Why yes," he said, inching past him, "I'll be on my way now." He had an honest distaste for the man. It probably had something to do with his cheerful personality.

"Would you like me to drive you today, Sir?" he asked.

"_A persistent one, he is," _The Joker thought, secretly glaring at him. "No, that's okay. I got it." His back was to him now as he left the room. He could hear the old man's footsteps following him down the stairs.

"Your keys, then," Alfred said, and the Joker heard the jingle of metal. He whirled around, snatched the keys, then stalked out the door. He grinned to see the dark Lamborghini, and hit the unlock button on the key fob. At last, something he would enjoy.

He slid behind the wheel of the slick car, grinning maliciously. The interior smelled of leather; it could have been a new car. His hands stroked the steering wheel for a moment before sliding the key into the ignition. It started with a purr, and the Joker sloppily pulled out of the driveway and into Gotham's streets. He easily found his way to Wayne Enterprises, the site of many of his *failed* attempts. He narrowly missed hitting a few pedestrians, a lamppost, and a stray dog, but he was oblivious to all of them.

He haphazardly pulled into a parking space and made his way inside. He was parked nearly diagonally, like a jerk with a nice car, taking up two parking spaces. He expected to be able to waltz in like he owned the place (hell, he practically did) and just wander around entertaining himself for the day. No such luck. As soon as he stepped foot in the door, he was bombarded by executives all vying for his attention.

"Mr. Wayne, can you sign-"

"-meeting at 12:30!"

"-look at this, please!"

He stumbled backwards a bit, a little overwhelmed. He put his hands up defensively, taking the first paper that had been thrust at him.

"What is it, exactly?" he asked, barely skimming the paper. It looked pretty dry and boring to him. He wasn't listening when the man explained it to him; he honestly didn't care. He nodded, cutting the man off, and reached for a pen. Signing it in messy letters, he tossed it back at its owner, who then looked over it. He had misspelled 'Wayne'.

But the Joker was paying no mind; he was too busy pacifying everyone else. After he finally managed to untangle himself from the throng of people, he found himself face to face with Bruce's friend and co-worker Lucius Fox. He handed him a list off all the meetings he was to be involved in that day.

"Nine to eleven…twelve thirty to three…four fifteen to six forty-five…" the Joker read. He trailed off. "Well, nice to know I have a lot of free time today," he pouted, grimacing at the paper. Fox laughed good-naturedly.

"See you at nine," he smiled, leaving the Joker standing in the middle of the hall. He had no idea where to go. At least was eight-thirty, so he couldn't be at a loss for long. He wandered the perfect hallways, wishing he could at least vandalize a little. At five to nine, he slunk off to the meeting room, where the only empty seat left was his own. As he took his seat, every head in the room turned to stare at him. He instantly lost his bravado and slouched down, as if that could hide him.

"Now that Mr. Wayne has joined us, we can begin," Lucius said, looking pointedly down at the Joker. The Joker stared at him blankly for a moment, before realizing that he wanted him to talk. He froze, having no idea what to say, everything Bruce had told him gone from his memory.

He stood, cleared his throat, and said, "Well, I think it's obvious how well we're

doing here at…" he paused, the name escaping him, "uh, Wayne Enterprises. But don't…don't take my word for it. Listen to Mr. Fox explain all that's been going on in our wonderful company!" He smiled and sat down, trying to ignore the angry being thrown at his face by Fox. The Joker settled comfortably into the chair, at least attempting to look interested. This working business was too complicated and boring for him.

He checked Bruce's watch. One hour and fifty minutes of this meeting left, and then two more similar meetings too follow. He could feel himself losing brain cells by the second, trying to care about what was being said. His brain was going to be mush. Yep, he sure had a lot of fun to look forward to as Bruce Wayne.


End file.
